


Slouching Towards Bethlehem

by Aquielle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: And a Dean to snuggle, Endverse, I just want to give him some kombucha, I'm overly invested in endverse!Cas, M/M, Not as sad as it probably should be, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 13:44:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3694472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquielle/pseuds/Aquielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He would set himself on fire to keep Dean warm.</p><p>It seemed to be the leitmotif in Castiel's life, to be set ablaze for or by Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slouching Towards Bethlehem

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the book by Joan Didion.
> 
> I was overwhelmed by Endverse feels not too long ago and this seemed the only logical way to extract them.

Trying to meditate during the apocalypse fucking sucks Cas thinks as he tries again to focus. The amount of mind altering chemicals the one requires to truly attain a zen state is absurd and unrealistic.

The needs of his own body are a distraction that he sometimes simply cannot overcome.

He watches Dean walk past the beaded door with his thigh holster strapped high and his mouth a tight line.

Cas drinks him in and breathes deeply closing his eyes again. He has something to focus on now.

There is something freeing about the end of the world. The honesty can't be found anywhere else.

There is no time for posturing or bullshit in the middle of a crisis and while this may be how every day goes now it's still crisis mode most of the time.

There seems to be a ragged desperation in everyone he has met, like a wounded animal clinging to life. Humanity is aching and needy and raw, Cas thinks it's the most real thing he has ever experienced in all of his thousands of years of existence.

Not that he had a burning need to experience pain and terror first hand, but some things cannot be avoided despite pain killers.

No matter how human he becomes Dean still calls him angel, even if these days it seems more like a jab.

When they were alone on the road it wasn't said with pity or venom. When they were sweat slick, entangled and exhausted, Dean would whisper it into every pore on his body as if he could breathe his wings back into existence.

Cas thinks about the first time they were together, truly together. It was after Detroit, after the adrenalin wore off. Dean clung to him as he sobbed the broken pieces of his heart into Castiel's shoulder and begged him to stay. All he could think was "of course I'll stay, how could I ever leave you?"

There are times when Cas thinks that Dean resents the hell out of that night. He acts like he hates that Cas had a front row seat to his weakness, as if the knowledge of his breakdown could be used as a weapon against him.

Then he thinks about the half dozen times Dean could have left him behind, how many people have been lost so that he could survive, how many had been sacrificed upon the alter of "I'm not leaving without Cas" that number is staggering.

He wishes he knew if it was loyalty, love or guilty that bound Dean to him.

To the outside world Dean is no longer the same man he loved from a distance for so long. He has become colder, the exterior hardening like a protective shell.

He is their fearless leader, the one who makes life and death decisions without a second thought.

But here in the haze of Castiel's achingly human heart Dean is still the beautiful, fragile soul that he fell from grace for, if only for a few hours at a time.

He remembers how Michael use to compare humans to parasites. At the time he remembers thinking that the analogy wasn't wholly inaccurate. Humans seemed to devour so much to simply exist.

Now he is in awe of how little they can survive on. Food, water, shelter from the increasingly cold weather and Dean seem to be his only real needs.

His logical side might argue that Dean is a desire, not a requirement for sustaining his life....but that would be wrong.

He had ripped out his own wings to keep Dean Winchester from being alone.

He would set himself on fire to keep Dean warm.

It seemed to be the leitmotif in Castiel's life, to be set ablaze for or by Dean.

***

It seemed that the more human he became the more Dean distanced himself.

When the loneliness became to big Cas found others were more than willing to share his bed, but every time he woke in the night he searched out Dean's cabin.

He would stumble in half stoned and reeking of sex wanting nothing more than the smell of gunpowder and motor oil and Dean that lingered on the sheets even when Dean was off with Risa or Jayne or Amber.

Cas knew that he would be yelled at about personal space and being a druggie and a slut when Dean returned, but he also knew that when the hunter was finished ranting he would curl up next to him and sleep peacefully until the morning came and the hardness would tint the way Dean looked at him.

It hurt more than he was willing to admit, Dean's scorn, but he was willing to bear it in the morning for the hushed gasps and desperate touches in the dark surrounded by scent of the man he had loved so deeply.  

Cas always meant to apologize or yell in the early hours to provoke a response. Bait him until Dean would meet his eyes, angry but with some passion again, but inevitably the next disaster came crashing in on them making all of Castiel's complaints seem petty.

He didn't like the confusion or the guilt that always settled in him when he was alone. He didn't want to miss people and feel sad, so he got stoned and felt nothing. When he came down he would feel useless and guilty again, like the turning of a wheel of increasingly shitty feelings he was expected to endure. Cas didn't know how humanity had survived so long like this, thankfully opiates existed.

***

That was how life went at the end of the world, surprisingly routine in it's ups and downs.

And then he appeared like a lightening strike right at the most vulnerable part of Cas.

Dean Winchester, fresh, bright-eyed, unbent and unbroken.

Cas felt a tidal wave of nostalgia wash over him, how could he miss what he was never allowed to have?

Dean before Detroit, before the collapse of the whole world fell onto his shoulders aging him and weighing him down with the Sisyphean task of carrying on.

Dean who looked at him with that old mixture of devotion and awe. How he ached for those eyes, that heart, with his entire being.

He knew his fearless leader hated the way they looked at each other, he had made it perfectly clear with a few well placed verbal barbs, but Cas couldn't be bothered to give a fuck when he saw that face soften and eye him with longing.

***

Cas didn't know what bit of divine intervention lead Dean into his cabin, but he wasn't about to question it.

The looks that Dean had been giving him all day cut straight through the fog of weed that usually clouded his mind. Those eyes were filled with adoration, wonder and curiosity, he hasn't seen that I so very long.

"Do you love him?" Dean asks looking up through long eyelashes that make Cas' heart beat too fast and his chest ache.

"I existed for so long before I ever even knew who you were, but sometimes I think I was created for the sole purpose of loving you Dean" Cas admits finally as he leans in to touch their lips together, soft and slow as if he's afraid the whole thing is a dream that might shatter around him. "When you go back, keep that in mind" he whispers.

The line is calculated. If they all die tomorrow then no harm, if this is really Zachariah just scaring Dean into compliance then the least he can do is help his former self out that much.

He figures even if this is the peyote finally kicking in, well he might as well enjoy it. Bang a few gongs and all that.

***

Castiel, former Angel of the Lord meets his demise as a human on a Thursday.

He does so with a spark of hope in his chest and the taste of Dean on his tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully I haven't taken too many liberties with the universe that Edlund created. I am constantly amazed that 42 minutes have managed to spawn so much creativity in this fandom.


End file.
